


do you carry a lunchbox?!

by aberm



Category: Raven's Home (TV), That's So Raven
Genre: F/F, I am not at all an expert on this, Light BDSM, Smut, Some Fluff, There are no tags for Liz Anya and her assistant so I just tagged it under rae and chels, but i wrote it in anyways because it's how i see them being, illusions to BDSM, message me if necessary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 04:59:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15041252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aberm/pseuds/aberm
Summary: The fraction of the whole story that is Liz Anya and Popi, her extra-loyal lunchbox assistant.





	do you carry a lunchbox?!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there. I wrote this beautiful disgusting thing, and bear in mind, that I've never written smut before. This is the prototype, essentially. 
> 
> So! Because tomorrow (as I post this) is the premiere of season 2 of RH, I've decided to finally post this thing that's been 6 months in the making. My friend and I thought, "why the hell shouldn't there be a story just for the pop diva Liz and her trusty assistant with no name?" 
> 
> My friend gave her a name: Popi. Go with it. 
> 
> **This takes place on the same day as the season 1 finale does.**
> 
> Enjoy!

A high pitched cry pierces the air around the empty restroom of the cafe they are currently hauled up in at 9:30 in the morning. 

"Keep it down, Popi," A voice hisses.

Popi, with her back pressing up against the bathroom stall and her feet over a foot apart, glances down to find Liz Anya diving back into licking the outer folds of her cunt. 

As of now, they should be en route to their 10 am meeting with hair stylists and makeup teams. Liz Anya, one of the biggest names in the music industry, after all, needs to look her absolute best at all given times. However, Liz Anya is too preoccupied with the gleeful moans and visible shudders her dear assistant, Popi, is demonstrating. The pop star cracks an eye open and watches amusingly as the redhead writhes and claws at the stall door with vigorous pleasure while she works her hot, drilling tongue inside of her. This will be over soon. 

"Fuck, Liz, _yes!"_ Popi couldn't hold back her own tongue, as she whips it out to wet her lips in earnest, taking her hand away from gripping the top of the stall door and down to tangle itself in Liz Anya's loose, flowing hair. 

The diva abruptly disengages herself from the inner warmth of her assistant's cunt and glares up at her. Popi rocks her hips at the sudden loss of contact. 

"Liz..." she whines like a child whose candy has been confiscated by a parent. 

"What did I tell you? Hands out of the hair. Or we stop for the rest of the day. Understand?" 

Popi, with continued thrusts of her hips, rapidly nods her head, whimpers escaping her damp quivering lips. Liz Anya waits a moment, sharp eyes penetrating pleading ones. After a curt nod, she wastes no more time in darting back into the soaking depths of her trembling assistant. 

Another piercing cry rings like a clear bell for workers of the cafe to hear as they steer their knowing glances away from the women's restroom door. A sign that reads "out of service" dangles on the doorknob. 

This has been their thing for years. Even during travel, like right now, when they're away from California and anywhere else in the world, as long as they are together, this happens. And yeah, sometimes they're not always physically together but that's why phones and laptop webcams were invented. For things like this to still happen, too. 

Liz Anya---a stage name coined by a close friend of hers---has only ever known---and needed---one assistant in her life. A slim, blood-redheaded woman with smooth, porcelain skin, and a smooth, pink tongue to match merely introduced herself as "Popi" when meeting each other for the first time. It wasn't love at first sight or anything ridiculous like that, but hell. It was close enough. Liz Anya likes the way the taller girl struts in her heels, likes the way her ass looks in her tight dresses and short skirts, likes the way her mile-long legs move with swiftness and purpose, _loves_ the way she says her name. Especially _screaming_ it. And that was before Liz Anya managed to finally get the assistant in her bed. Popi intrigues her like no other. Popi fascinates her like no other. Popi attracts her like no other could ever do. And how easily it was to just pull the taller girl down to her level and claim her full magenta lips furiously and how quickly she reciprocated back, both falling into a comfortable rhythm---well, a girl _could_ fall in love. 

And to top it all off, the bitch is _kinky_. 

"Hey, Liz, your turn?" 

They're in a car now. A Ford Explorer or something. Papi---their muscle---is driving silently and composedly in the front, while Liz Anya and Popi sit close together in the back. Papi knows of their things. He sometimes _hears_ their things. But the girls don't invite him and he doesn't mind that they don't. He's okay with where he is with them because sometimes he hears whips whistling and chains clanking and he's good, really. Some nice vanilla gets him off just as well. No need for anything else or any of that. But it is entertaining to listen to when he's driving them somewhere---like right now. 

He glances through the rearview mirror to catch Liz Anya spreading her legs, and that's his cue to swiftly avert his eyes so they rest back on the road. He loves women as much as the next guy, but his mama also didn't raise a pervert. Luckily, he slows down the car at a red light and he's able to fish his headphones out of his pocket and dig them into his ears. He unlocks his phone and plays the first song in his playlist he created and titled "For When Shit Gets Steamy (And Not With Me)". While the light is still red, he looks at google maps to see that they are 17 minutes away from their destination. They can make it. He cranks the volume high and goes when the light turns green. 

Meanwhile, Popi is already knuckled deep in Liz Anya's pulsing heat, the ebony woman humming appreciatively and with absolute pleasure. She rotates her hips to match Popi's thrusting fingers and it only adds to the glorious experience and flush sensation she feels. They keep at this pace for a while, until Liz Anya grunts in frustration, clasping her fingers around Popi's working wrist and squeezing. That's a sign for _more_. Popi smirks despite Liz's nails digging fiercely into her warm skin. The assistant leans so closely to the other's face, that she can observe as sweat forms on her brilliant brows and her skin wrinkling as she furrows them. She leans even closer to whisper against her cheek that she just _can not wait_ to watch her come. That kind of talk gets more of a rise out of the singer; that and the way Popi pushes even deeper into her depths. Liz is mewling now, panting so hard she could pass out at any moment, and what finally gets her over the edge is how Popi has leaned further down and traps her clit inside of her hot mouth and swipes her tongue around like a sword. 

Liz Anya screams. 

When she finishes thrashing about, Popi straightens her back and makes a show of wiping her mouth clean, any trace of dark red lipstick is left all over the side of her palm...and on Liz Anya. The pop star opens her eyes to it and all she can do is form a tired smile and press light kisses to the redhead's jaw. Popi's hand finds Liz's, and they sit back and relax for the rest of the ride. 

...

Meetings with Liz Anya and Popi are interesting if you're an outsider looking in. Makeup artists, wardrobe consultants, managers, photographers, attendants, anyone who just happens to be in the room can see it. No one speaks about it, though, because how could anyone dare to bring it up anywhere that's not behind closed personal doors? It's the looks and the touches that give them away. And it doesn't even matter who's present with them, Liz Anya and Popi will always find excuses to make some physical contact and give each other sensual looks. Like right now, while a hair stylist is combing through Liz's tousled mane, she can watch as Popi runs a hand over the singer's thigh, inching higher and higher up, that the hair stylist can actually _feel_ Liz Anya shuddering and can hear her giggling and can see her clamp her thighs shut, trapping the assistants hand in between them. They don't go beyond that, but it makes some people shocked and uncomfortable that they are so blatantly open with their affections. 

And the looks. That's an entire thing of its own. Liz Anya and Popi always make time to look at each other whenever they are in the same room together. It doesn't matter if they are in a room with 5 people or 500 people; they always, always, always find each other's eyes and they always linger for so long that the word linger isn't even appropriate anymore. Just staring. Clean, cut, staring. _Dirty,_ cut, staring. 

Liz Anya loves the way Popi would trail her deep, brewing cocoa eyes up and down her form, no matter what she's wearing; whether a shiny new designer outfit; her workout clothes for the gym; her silk, shimmering pajamas; or even when she's wearing nothing at all (especially when she's wearing nothing at all). Popi could look at her all day, every day for as long as she breathes the air around her. She practically does, too. And Liz Anya has no qualms with looking right back at her. 

And then the way they speak to each other is just...another phenomenon altogether. Their words; their meticulously, calculated words, that positively drip with sweet honey, coated in sugary passion, flowing so effortlessly out of their leering mouths, for anyone to listen and regard. To Liz Anya and Popi, this is how they sound, disgustingly beautiful. To everyone else, they sound cunningly _filthy._

"How does your hand feel in between my legs, Popi?" Liz Anya smirks and continues to tighten her muscles together. 

"So fucking good, Liz. Although I do wish you would let me explore deeper," the redhead shamelessly moans in teasing, twitching her fingers in reluctance for an escape. "I'm sure I would stumble upon something nice and wet." She winks at the blonde star. 

Liz Anya swipes her tongue to dampen her suddenly dry lips and stares aggressively at the way Popi crosses and uncrosses her legs, fully aware of how unbelievably short her skin tight skirt is. 

"One day, Popi," Liz whispers, only meaning for her to hear. "One day you'll truly kill me. And I welcome you to do so." 

Popi beams at her words, her eyes suddenly looming and soft instead of fierce and stabbing. 

"Consider this a pact, because God, you'll kill me, too." 

...

For lunch, they go to their favorite restaurant in Chicago. An incredibly fancy, dim lit, low music kind of place for people looking for a quiet, low key, expensive meal. For Liz and Popi, however, that merely is not the case. 

A waiter leads them to their usual table, Papi guiding the girls in front, Liz Anya following after, with Popi close behind. They are seated and as the waiter hands them their menus and walks away to prepare their usual drinks, the assistant fails to spare a cursory glance at the actual list of food. 

"Oh, I already see what I want," Popi says, staring directly at Liz Anya in a hungry manner as the pop star scans the menu in her hands. She looks up at her and a prominent blush blooms on her cheeks. 

Making Liz Anya blush is one of Popi's favorite things to do in the world. It truly amazes her that no matter how long or how many times they are together, Liz always surprises her with genuine subtle reactions. Like, Liz eyeing her with fondness. Or, her tentative touches, her rewarding small smiles, and of course, her blushing. It's as if they meet each other for the first time over and over again. The thought of this causes Popi to blush on her own accord, and she forces herself to actually flip through the menu and not continue her flirtatious looks at her employer. This transition is cut stunningly short when the redhead feels a foot trail up her legs, toes skimming over her skin like a pebble gliding over water, and an involuntary shiver passes through her body. Her eyes are back on Liz Anya like it should always be for the rest of time. 

"Papi, what was it that you got the last time we were here? That looked delicious, whatever it was." Liz Anya asks, feigning innocence. 

Popi glares, yet still remains amused. She decides to up the ante herself. 

Before Liz Anya can ultimately decide on what to consume, she jumps slightly at the feel of hands parting her legs wide open. She looks up to find the seat next to her, once filled with the great asset that is her assistant only a moment ago, now deserted. No red hair in sight. That could only mean one thing. She lifts the tablecloth. _And there it was._ Red hair. A wet smirk. Sparkling eyes. Her heart flutters at the sight of it. 

"Surprise."

"Seems like you've chosen your lunch." 

"Yup. Hot and all," she inches closer to her meal. "Oh, and give my compliments to the chef." 

Liz Anya is barely able to stifle her moan as Popi forces her panties aside and pokes at her entrance with the tip of her tongue. Her hands grip the ends of the table, tugging lightly at the cloth. Papi already knows the situation. He makes sure to bore his eyes threateningly into the waiter when he returns with their drinks and a question hanging on his lips. Liz Anya takes everything in her to pick up the menu she previously tossed and tries not to stutter as she recites her order. The waiter writes down the orders with a shaky hand, practically tripping over himself starting towards the kitchen. 

Meanwhile, Popi laps up the flood of juices courtesy of Liz Anya's arousal. With one hand holding aside panties, the other starts to travel over the singer's blazing skin and meets her licks at the center, allowing fingers to sink into her body without much of a preamble. Liz's body is set aflame from that action alone, and with a couple of minutes of thrusting and sucking, Liz Anya welcomes the overwhelming flush of pure euphoria. She comes, and just in time as their food comes, too. Fast service all around. 

Popi pops out from right underneath the table, semi-discreetly, and is both surprised and pleased to find a plate of food placed in front of her. She looks up to meet Liz's smirk. 

"I had to order for you, of course." 

Popi chuckles and grabs her fork to dig into the scrumptious looking meal. 

"Not as good as the appetizer, but I'll settle." 

"Oh, well _my_ appetizer won't have to wait any longer," Liz coos seductively, causing a rise of Popi's magnificently arched eyebrow. This obviously intrigues the taller girl. And the sensation she feels of fingers dancing across her thigh intrigues her even more. 

Before she can draft up a retort in her head, it begins to spin when Liz drags her pointer teasingly over her already sopping panty-covered-cunt and then stuffs her entire hand down the garment to finally meet the burning flesh. Popi lets out a soft yelp, already bucking into Liz's swiftly moving fingers. Some neighboring tables glance over at the sudden sound, but merely shrug and turn back away when all they find is a trio who aren't even conversing among themselves. Liz Anya may not be chatting animatedly, but that is only because all of her attention and focus is on Popi sputtering, clenching her fork and faintly driving her hips forward over and over. 

Liz rather loves seeing Popi this way; completely at her mercy, completely undone, and completely on the edge. She decides to draw this out for as long as she can by halting her fingers and reeling them back out. But before she can free them from Popi's pussy, the girl herself snaps her eyes open and glowers at Liz threateningly. Liz shoots her a warning stare in return, mentally chastising her for her attitude and for forgetting that Liz is in control now. The assistant dissolves her glower into a pout and nods understandingly. Fortunately for her, Liz can't stand to see her frown for much longer, so she easily slides her digits back into Popi and the latter sighs appreciatively at the pleasurable feeling. They thrust together again. Popi fails to stifle a groan again. The waiter appears cautiously at their table again, nervous eyes flying about the room as Papi bores his own eyes into him, over the top rim of his sunglasses. The waiter makes a beeline for the kitchen again. And Popi is on the edge...again. Her movements are semi-uncontrollable at this point, their table shaking slightly, her noises becoming unmuffle-able. Liz knows very well just how loud Popi can be. She also knows very well how shameless she can be in public. Which is why Liz is leaning over to press her lips against Popi's flaming cheeks and whispering for her to _come already_ because she knows she _wants to so bad._ Then she moves her lips slowly up to her rosy-tipped ear and tells her to look at her when she does. 

And what a gorgeous sight it is to watch as Popi tilts her face to stare straight into Liz's lustful eyes as she is pushed entirely, wholly, fully, serendipitously, over the edge and comes hard with a silent scream to seal it. 

Popi is panting heavily, but she hears it when Liz Anya murmurs "good girl" as she takes back her fingers and raises them up for the two of them to examine. The redhead both smiles at her words and at her fingers. They are soaking wet. Liz continues to look at her when she pops them right into her mouth and suck them clean. A gasp dies in Popi's sudden parched throat, and she reaches for her glass of water to rehydrate herself. 

More steamy looks are exchanged before the table vibrates. All three heads turn down toward Liz Anya's phone. She picks it up and quickly reads through the new text message. She smiles.

"Popi, dear," she says without looking up from her phone. The redhead waits for her to continue, anticipation bubbling within. Liz breaks contact with the device in favor of Popi's earthly irises. 

"Your thoughts on dog shows on a Saturday evening?" 

...

Popi's thoughts on dog shows are expectedly positive, which is why the trio are finding themselves strutting inside of a runway warehouse in the heart of Downtown Chicago. 

Paisley Day is an old friend of Liz Anya. Very, very distant, old friend. They were acquainted in high school and usually ran in similar circles. Of course, Liz Anya is exceedingly popular among the industry, but that doesn't mean she passes up the chance to see her whenever she's in town. Once Paisley heard that Liz was in the area, she immediately shot her an invitation to her one of many grand canine couture galas---or whatever she calls it these days. It doesn't matter. Popi is an absolute sucker for dogs, and Liz Anya won't admit it, but she is too. So they attend. And they again find themselves in the back rooms, all alone, and all horny. 

They had arrived a tad later than expected, walking right into the beginning of the show. Which consisted of a rather...large...woman sitting on a stool and apparently warming up to paint a design live on stage. Honestly, it seemed boring the second they got there, so before anyone can notice them, Popi shoved Liz Anya into a random closed off room while Papi---like the incredible bodyguard and overall man that he is---took the hint and followed to stand guard before the door of the room. 

Cue the current situation. 

Which has Popi laying flat on her back across a sturdy table, heeled feet dangling over Liz Anya's shoulders as Liz Anya completely buries herself in between Popi's legs, manicured nails digging into the assistants alabaster thighs. Popi itches to yank and pull on the pop star's locks but has to decide against it or it would anger the girl. And Popi doesn't really get off when Liz Anya is angry. No one really gets off when Liz Anya is angry. So she refrains. What she does do, however, is flail her hands around the table, only to feel something...arousing. 

Leather, or more specifically, _wearing_ leather is one of many kinks for Popi. And wearing is a rather loose term, to begin with. But when she snatches that something in her hand, she brings it before herself to inspect, and what she sees excites her even more. A leather collar. A leather _dog_ collar, more specifically. How lovely. Popi purrs delectably as she sits up a little and gently pushes Liz's shoulders so the shorter girl detaches herself from the assistant. Her soft whine makes Popi's heart soar but quickly shows her new discovery anyway, finding that her heart soaring happens too many times with Liz for it to be considered earth-shattering anymore. Liz Anya observes the collar twirling around in the redhead's hands, bringing a hand up to touch it herself. Liz may not state it, but she also gets a bit inflamed at the presence of leather in provocative situations. She looks back at the slim woman and breaks out into a knowing smirk. Popi matches her smirk and hands the collar right over to Liz's waiting fingers. After Liz snakes the collar around Popi's pale neck, she clicks the lock into place and they simultaneously giggle with enthusiasm. 

"How does it look?" Popi gives a show of modeling it for her, and the singer licks her lips in earnest. 

"Lay back down so I can eat you," Liz Anya uses a commanding tone, already following through with the common fantasy between the two; Liz domming the shit out of Popi. 

Her assistant squeals in utter delight at the words and obeys her instruction, sudden surges of thrill amplifying her already dripping arousal. She takes back her place on the table and adjusts her legs wide open again, already rubbing three fingers over her clit furiously. Her throaty moans spill past her lips and Liz Anya can barely hold back her own sounds of desperation. The pop star mounts the taller girl and runs her slick tongue down Popi's neck like she's licking up something flavorful. Perhaps she is. She does taste a twinge of vanilla...maybe that $200 Panthere Extrait de Parfum as well. 

With a sudden blast of commotion coming from outside of the door---likely something about the show going awry---the girls figure they don't have as much time as they have anticipated, so their lewd escapade will have to be disappointedly cut short. 

"Baby, you'll have to come nice and quick," Liz Anya says, voice gruff and with urgency. 

"Hard, please---I want to come hard," Popi supplies, her own voice strained and begging. 

Liz pauses her movements, trailing her eyes over Popi's quivering body and stopping at the sight of her assistant's half-lidded eyes and the rise and fall of her barely covered chest. This is their moment. Usually, a moment like this, with either Liz Anya or Popi shaking with such anticipation and want and desire and need, the other could stare and observe all damn day. 

_"She looks so beautiful,"_ one or the other would say. 

Their moments are Liz's personal favorites. Because that means she has the ability to make Popi feel things that cannot be explained or written because the justice would be undone. It's something unspoken. 

Liz looks at her. Gazes meeting, grins baring, cheeks tinted, sweat glistening, breaths panting, laughs surging and bubbling. Liz looks at her and then breaks eye contact to submerge herself into Popi's most sacred heat. 

Somehow, in Liz's mind, the barking of dogs drowns out Popi's scream. 

In a bit, they reclothe, fix their hair, reapply makeup, share an open-mouthed kiss, and exit the room they've just shacked up in. They find Papi leaning against the wall right next to the door with headphones glued to his ears. Popi taps his shoulder, making the bodyguard jump slightly at the unsuspecting touch. The redhead offers him a cheeky smile, winking at him over the round rim of her sunglasses. Papi nods his head in acknowledgment (and in appraisement) and leads the girls down the vacant dark hallway. Popi guides Liz by the hand through a closed shimmery sequin curtain and introduces her to the showroom like she's done so many times over the years. 

"Step aside, step aside, famous person coming through," 

A glamorized vest catches their attention, and in the still afterglow of their most recent session, they spend $10,000 on it. Hardly their best idea. The woman with paint on her face (who Popi keeps eyeing a little---but only a little because, well, there's something about her. Perhaps Popi has an undeniable type. She doesn't plan to mention this to her lover, of course) and the young boy with a cheesy smile make away with snatching the check out of Popi's slim fingers and taking off. The ink was barely dry. Both Liz and Popi turn to look at each other and shrug their shoulders in nonchalance. 

They miss the rest of the show and Paisley---who wasn't even in the mood for talking anyway---so they return to the truck and leave back to their hotel, with the dog collar still wrapped around Popi's neck. 

...

Usually, they tend to end their days smashed together, grinding roughly in a seedy club, the air thick with sweat, blaring techno music pulsing in their ears; but instead, tonight, they head straight for their silent hotel room. Well, silent for no more. 

The moment the door clicks shut, Popi shoves Liz up against the back of the door and smashes her warm lips against the others yearningly, restless hands already wandering over and over and over her frame, her body, her mind. Liz Anya greets this aggressive physical act with a smiling laugh and threads her own fingers through the short blood locks. The moaning and groaning and mewling begins. The groping and gyrating and grinding. The clumsy thumbs and peeling tops and sliding bottoms. The fluffy sheets and goose pimple arms and giggling smooches. 

Liz Anya has Popi pinned to the bed now. The pop star drags her wet tongue up the side of Popi's throat and plants a sweet, sweet kiss on the corner of her mouth. She presses her forehead against the redhead's and sighs for a moment. 

"Hey, Liz," Popi murmurs, eyes closed and smile unwavering. 

"Yes, my dear?" 

"Can I touch your hair?" Her voice eludes pleading, albeit a smirk is breaking through. She knows how far gone they both are and she's going to take advantage of it. 

Liz waits for a beat, and then laughs---only a little, though. 

"Fucking yank it, please." 

Popi does and Popi loves it. And from the sound of trembling moans, Liz might love it, too. 

After several hours, the two lay cuddling close together in bed, almost fused into one entity.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow. This exists now. Hopefully, the end wasn't too anticlimactic for y'all! Come back and re-read anytime you want ;) 
> 
>  
> 
> And leave comments & kudos pls! It really makes me feel amazing when people actively support and love my stuff. Thanks. 
> 
> (Constructive criticism is welcomed and highly encouraged!)


End file.
